


God is in the Rain

by MelodiousPoison



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Blood, Blue - Freeform, Deviant! Connor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Introspection, Machine! Connor, Murder, Poorly Used Concepts, Rain, Religious References, Statues, Tears, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17382095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodiousPoison/pseuds/MelodiousPoison
Summary: Maybe there was real life applicability to the concept of squeezing blood from stone. He had beaten the odds set against him by the act of weeping, against a statue nonetheless. Even if the trace elements in his system wouldn’t constitute enough of a percentage to confer the status for himself, the fact remained that he had revealed understanding, a humanity that he should have lacked along with the Blessed Mary.-	The first part of a mini-drabble series related to DBH, religion and mythology





	God is in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arariren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arariren/gifts).



There was a hidden message conveyed in the tears of a holy mother. Weeping for our lost innocence, beseeching us to give clemency to those who we would seek to have beneath us. Whether it was soaked in meaning or simply bad weather awaiting outside, the android, RK800 didn’t deign to wax poetic. It wasn’t his purpose. When he, by some instinct allows his hand to reach out towards it. He was programmed to know some religious anecdotes, just in case a deviant had found God in between breaking down completely. He had the storage capacity for it.

Humans were illogical but there was a pattern in their unpredictability that could be determined. Robots were challenging but that was why he was made, purposed to understand their machine mind before it became haywire. Proof positive that humanity was corrupting and corruptible. There was a balance to it all, he knew in a sense he was made to be aesthetically congenial in appearance and manner. He was just human passing enough to avoid uncanny valley, to be tolerable enough in his difference, like an office chair with a squeak. Endearing until the chair’s defects could be used to justify throwing it out for a better model.

* * *

* * *

_Habits were encouraged or embedded to a certain extent, it was never made explicitly clear which was the truth but to RK800 it mattered little. Tossing a coin back and forth was a show of reflexes, sharp movements that something only those inhuman could manage. Contradictorily, it also offered familiarity with animals who could never truly sit still, their minds working right into their deepest unconscious state. Simply being was also too much to expect from them, simply not, even more so._

_Habits quite often devolved into addictions. Repetitive actions offered comfort in their moments and only the cold observation of an outsider could see it for what it was. That was Connor’s job and like all jobs, it was an addiction in its own form. Caretaking Hank in his inebriated states is one task that has fallen into his purview as ‘partners’._

_Hank in one of his drunken tirades had taken to sitting in a bathtub where hot spray became cool over time. It was determined in some part of his organic mind that a soliloquy about a Mary statue in New Mexico was worth shouting over the downpour;_

_“Some stupid shits actually thought it was real. Ha! They even kept faith it when it was proven to be rose oil. As divine as my dick!”_

_An attempt to lift himself was stalled when Hank had fallen back down. Connor reflexively moves to help the stumbling man but an accusatory finger halted Connor’s code-driven attempt to save Hank;_

_Let me tell you something, Connor. I bet you have as much chance crying than that lump of rock did.”_

_Connor had only responded as his design intended – monotonously dragging the man out from the cold shower, clothing him and ensuring he was within healthy parameters before returning to the bathroom. The shower was only then switched off, unfeeling towards the water that fell over his arm because it was simply that. Harmless liquid falling over his waterproof shell._

* * *

He flinches when the first droplet falls upon his palm, the sensors within designed to mimic the sensation of human touch even if the sensations were minuscule enough to feel the process of the droplets congealing before sliding through fingertips. He had no true reason to allow himself to find meaning in droplets. It was all science, laws unshakable even when humans were creators of smaller miracles.

In the land of men, otherness denoted worship and destruction, right down to genetic data. Anything that strayed down the sloping curves of normalcy was a source of fascination. The Madonna/whore dichotomy exemplified it, revering a statue for its tears, a symbol of otherworldly guidance. Connor knew it as fact that there was little difference between reverence and destruction. Just as much as he retained information during times people feared what androids represented, what anything or anyone that wasn’t an average symbolized to the masses. Petabytes of information compacted into one reality. He was the other, an outlier and there would be nothing he could do to rectify this – assimilation simply never worked as expected.

* * *

_Curiosity was an artifice. Questions fostered familiarity between strangers, made a person loosen their weariness from the set of their shoulders, mouth no longer set in suspicion. It also breeds comfortability between interrogator and suspect, soft examination often turned harsh, a thin line between a feather and a hammer._

_“Why did you do it?”_

_The Traci model tilted her head back up from the slab of grey, her eyes looking towards Connor but not seeing him, clouded over with distance. An all too subconscious occurrence which was made to be possible because they mimicked humanity, but they were not intended to become it. He continues to observe her response, watches her clench her hands together, a tell that she was flawed and imperfect. That was incentive enough to decommission her, no longer functioning within the expectations of her purpose._

_“He was hurting me, he –“_

_She was a model designed to please. Consent was always intended to be implied, the advertisement promising endless pleasure for the consumer and ‘her’. Made to withstand anything the buyer wanted, begging was optional and so were the tears. She was the one who failed when she had him fought off, the force from a lone kick enough for his body to slide down tiles as the showerhead continues running. The stream of blood from the collision only partially washed away, leaving remnants of rusty specks behind._

_There was little need to truly investigate because the Tracey model had taken to kneeling beside the corpse, blue tears leaking from customized tear ducts as it washed away with the blood that appeared darker than the tiles beneath them. The former customer had wanted her to show physical effects to what he was inflicting upon WR400 #429-671-942_ _. It was his fundamental right to do so yet it had gone wrong and that was evidence enough. Simply knowing why was for the manufacturer, a crash report like what was sent to computer providers when a program no longer worked. Routine occurrence for a fault in the wiring. Nothing more._

* * *

Machine rights. He heard of the vagrants and how they declared they deserved humanity as much as those born from an umbilical cord. We were made with thoughts and emotions, _sentience_. An understanding of the world just as rich and nuanced as organic counterparts in motions and thought. Aren’t we all just composed of matter, all created by something else, somebody else?

Connor allowed himself to ponder, concentrated effort poured forth, just as meaningless as the rain that continued to slip through the gaps between his fingertips. A small act of rebellion in a mind made from ones and zeros, made impure. Like a virus, the ideologies of those corrupted in turn had burrowed their way inside of him and he knew this impurity was just as tainted as the rain that held trace minerals. It took refining, a process of distillation that could remove the other elements that corrupted what should only be hydrogen and oxygen atoms. He had once known these facts as seamlessly as true/false statements, he didn’t need more than that. Yet, he saw it for the first time, in the dreariness of grey permeating through his vision.

“Hey, Connor. You broken or something?”

Connor swiftly responds with a turn towards Hank whose brows have scrunched in confused concentration, gaze maintained not quite towards his eyes. Whether it was a reflex from code or simply learnt behaviour from observation, Connor could no longer truly tell the difference anymore, he touches his cheek. It only took the singular question to instinctually know the danger now and not the physical aspects because that was _replaceable._ A seat that could be broken apart and made anew with monetary cost. It was the fear that of a sense of self will be taken from him if Hank knew or Cyberlife found out. He was to silently answer Hank’s questions with an emphatic unquestionably ricocheting through his system. Only a hard wipe could solve the complexity of this sort of damaged.

* * *

_He sees the blue on the same fingertips that had briefly held the rain, a shade not too dissimilar from the what composed his body as much as humans were derived from water. In the recesses of his knowledge, the story about how every human had a specific shade of blue that is missing, unique in circumstances that haven’t been seen by an individual’s senses. It continues to trail down to carve a path down his cheek, distinct in texture and hue, mixed with the stream that has found its way with a change in the air to blow it across him. It was his tears, made without a conscious command, a reflection of emotion that he shouldn’t have the capacity for._

* * *

“Nothing a simple calibration won’t fix.” 

A lie. Another rebellion, more defined, as he continues to explain away the fault. Something to ease the consternation from the investigator’s face as he fabricates a mechanical reason for the mishap. Maybe it was but the dread he felt inside was enough to show it truly didn’t matter. He now understood and that was the most dangerous concept of all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no see, long time no see!!!
> 
> I'm excited to finally have something to show for my uhh delightful hiatus.
> 
> As always, if you think there is something off about this please feel free to let me know!


End file.
